


I Am Become Death

by SherlockMalfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fate & Destiny, Gen, Gods, Harry Potter as Death, Horcruxes, Immortal Harry Potter, Master of Death Harry Potter, Peverell Family, VERY vague sex scenes, Weird Possible Time Loop?, lady luck - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 15:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16558262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: Fate cackles. Tom Riddle Jr. made his first horcrux. Destiny laughs. A drunken Seer makes a prophecy. And Death?... Death roars like a raging lion.





	I Am Become Death

**Author's Note:**

> This entire story was written in the course of a single day and was done entirely stream of consciousness so some stuff just kind of goes absolutely nowhere.  
> And it gets weird. I mean, really weird where Lily Potter and Death are concerned. Don't say I didn't warn you.

 

Family magic was a terrible, wondrous thing.

Each pureblood line had a unique ability. This ability was often inherited by the heir of each head of house.

Due to inbreeding some abilities carried over, to a lesser degree, into other bloodlines.

For example the Animagi and Morphmagi ability were well known to appear in the House of Black bloodline, however if a member of House Black married into another pureblood house... say... Potter for instance, then that ability may show up in a member of House Potter.

Even then, while others could become different animals like stags and rats, only the heirs of Black could become fantastical magical creatures... like a Grim for example.

The Gaunts were well known parseltongues, an ability inherited from the great Salazar Slytherin. The Gryffindors could summon objects from the ether with pure intent and will alone. The Malfoys had a silver tongue and even without money could talk Satan himself into selling his soul. Princes, too, had a special gift. To them the intuitive knowledge of potions had been given. One look at a potion, even without a recipe, and they would know what was in it and how to improve upon it.

Even the Longbottoms had a gift of their own - to turn barren lands plentiful and green. Earth magic ran through their veins stronger than any other.

But when it came to the house of Potter... all knew their natural affinity for battle magic, but none knew why it was so. For their great ability with the darkest of arts and how to combat them came with a terrible price, one that faded into wizarding myth and became bedtime stories for children. For few knew the Potters were not always the Potters... for they were once the ancient Peverells - darker than even Slytherin himself, but who found themselves on the wrong side of Death's affections.

In return for their great and terrible power, the Peverells, and later the Potters, suffered Death's curse.

On the day of the Head of House would die, they would receive a vision of their heir's death. A mental torture for most. To know not only that their own demise was less than 24 hours away, but to be unable to pass the knowledge of their child's death onward so that they could prepare.

Family legend said that, one day, the curse would be broken. When and to whom the final vision would appear... none knew.

Not until the night of October 30th, 1981, when James Potter lay down beside his wife for what he had assumed would be a normal night of rest.

 

James found himself in the woods. He knew this clearing. He knew it very well. Especially after he and his friends had become animagi together to run with Remus. To truly become his pack-mates... even if only Sirius could sort-of count as an actual dog.

He saw a boy standing in the clearing. "I am about to die," he heard the boy whisper before bringing something that glinted gold to his lips.

The scene before him moved so quickly, and that was when he realized what was happening. Ghostly versions of his friends - his brothers in all but blood - and his wife appeared. He felt himself speak but they were not his words.

Green eyes turned towards him from behind rounded spectacles.

Familiar green eyes of the woman sleeping in bed next to him this very moment. Eyes of his infant son who was in the room next door, resting peacefully in his cot.

The others said something, and the boy - Harry, his Harry - turned to each to listen. And then, whatever was in his hand now was dropped and the others disappeared. The boy walked on.

He felt compelled to follow as the made his way through the forest to another, much larger clearing.

"Harry Potter..." the sibilant, snake-like voice said. "The boy who lived..."

James felt his heart race.

"Harry run! RUN!" he cried, but the boy did not hear him.

"Come to die."

The boy stood still. Did not even draw his wand.

A flash of green and it was over in an instant.

James knew when he would wake that today was the day he would die. It wasn't a long life... but it was longer, apparently, than the one his son would have.

He expected to wake up then....

But...

A woman knelt down beside him. And so James knelt beside her.

"My son..." she whispered. "Does he live?"

Harry's lips moved, but James couldn't see or hear what was said. The woman stood.

"He is dead!"

James looked at her in disbelief. Then back at the boy who... the boy who wasn't so dead after all.

 

James woke as he usually did. Eyes slowly opening. A hand reaching for the other side of the bed. It was empty, but still warm. The barest hint of sunlight trickled in through the window.

He had never been an early riser without the motivation of school or Auror training. Before they went into hiding, he worked second shift down at the DMLE which suited him just fine. Sure he'd get home late, but he could spent his mornings with his wife and son before having to gear up and head out to work.

But now...

The bedroom door creaked when it opened. He'd been meaning to oil it for days since it started, but now he was grateful that he'd forgotten. Lily tried to be as quiet as she could as she returned to bed. He lay still, waiting silently and pretending to be asleep until she had wriggled her way back under the covers and scooted closer.

She snuggled in against him, giving a soft sigh as she settled in, ready to go back to sleep - something she only did when their boy was still sound asleep in the morning.

"Lily," he whispered, loud enough to catch her attention but not loud enough to break the ease of the morning just yet.

"I thought you were asleep, lazy bones," she replied just as quietly, sighing contently as he wrapped an arm around her to hold her that much closer.

He kissed her. His heart swelling with all of the love he felt for her since the moment he first laid eyes upon her. His soul heavy with guilt that he knew... he knew this was their last day together... And if the dream he had been given of his own son's death were any indication... she would not live beyond the day either.

James marveled in the softness of her skin and the fullness of her lips. At the fire in her bright green eyes as he worshiped every inch of her body like the goddess he always knew she was. His magic sang as it met her own, time and time again as they worked each other to the edge of release until finally... finally spiraling into pure and perfect carnal bliss.

And as they came back down from their high, James with a warm, goofy smile on his face that he only had after only the most amazing and mind-blowing sex he'd ever have with his wife, she smiled softly back at him. She reached up to tangle her fingers into sweaty, unruly black hair before bringing her hand down to his face and tracing his features with her fingertips just as reverently as he had her body.

"Is this it then?" she asked quietly, causing him to frown. As she took in his confusion, her smile changed to one she only wore when she knew something he didn't. The smile that Sirius often said she only gave she was feeling fond of her favorite idiot.

"How?"

"You think the Potter men are the only ones with secrets?" she asked, sitting up just enough to brush their lips together in an innocent, but loving kiss. "I don't... I don't want to know how..." she said, and James could see the fear behind her eyes. "Let's just give him the best day that we can."

 

After his father died, his mother was obsessed with making sure he had his wand with him at all times. He didn't understand why until he sat down to write what would be his final letter. The strangeness of the curse that had been tied to his family's magic ensured he could never tell his heir how they will die. But after his wife's words that morning about secrets, he realized that somewhere along the way a Lord Potter had to have told his wife what was going on. Had to have told her how their child would die. Not that they could really change it, since looking back each Lord Potter came to their true power only after both parents were dead.

So if there were one loophole, why not two?

Obviously his one year old son could not read it, but perhaps... Perhaps Sirius would? Or, if not Sirius then Remus? Both knew the combination to the muggle safe Lily had insisted they install in the bedroom. Hidden under the floorboards of their bed.

Yes. That was the perfect way he could warn his son. His son who died but didn't. His son who survived a killing curse to the chest. And though in the dream both his friends, his brothers, were dead - they were clearly much older than they were now. They lived long enough to help Harry. To raise him and teach him. Surely he could count on one of them to pass this letter along to his son when the time was right. When the boy could understand why he was the way that he would be. When he could prepare for that final confrontation.

So James wrote. He wrote until his hand cramped and then kept writing. He wrote down everything anyone would want to know about his family, about his ancestry. About the family cloak and their ancestors who gave it to them. He wrote about Harry's mother and how dearly he loved her.

And he wrote about the visions, the dreams, the family curse and the burden the Lords and their Heirs carried in their blood. The price of the great and terrible battle magics they possessed. But when he tried to write about his own dream, his own vision of Harry's death his quill snapped.

So he fixed it.

It snapped again.

He got another.

It broke.

Again and again until finally he gave up in frustration.

The only words that would come out, that could come out were... simple. But he felt they might be powerful all the same.

"You will be so brave, and so strong. I am proud to call you my son."

When he ran out of words, it was already past lunch. He had been writing for two hours straight. He cast a drying charm on the pages that were still damp with ink before taking twine out of his desk drawer and binding the pages together into a stack. It was hefty, he had to admit. But it was important. On the top was a page of instructions for Sirius or Remus - whichever one got to it first. Instructions to give it to Harry sometime shortly after he started Hogwarts.

He sealed it in a large envelope that he had expanded to fit the stack, and then sealed it away in the safe before joining his wife and son for the afternoon.

 

When Harry was put down for a nap, Lily sat him down and told him what she knew. What James's mother had told her on her deathbed.

That his father's final dream was of James dying at the hands of a madman and that he didn't have his wand. But he had died bravely nonetheless.

He held her close, and peppered her tear-stained cheeks with kisses. They took advantage of their son's nap to indulge themselves one last time.

 

Lily was prepared. Though not as prepared as she had wanted to be. She knew - she knew all this time since her mother-in-law's death how James would die. She just hadn't known when. She had told James that afternoon of her plan, knowing that her husband's fate was unavoidable. Death would always claim them no matter what they did - that was the lesson James's ancestors had to learn the hard way. It was the reason for the curse on their family magic.

Thankfully, Death happened to like Ignotus Peverell, and took pity on the man's descendants enough to allow them one single warning of what was to come for them.

Lord and Lady Potter both knew there was no escaping this fate. Not for James.

Had Lily been given a time frame to work with, she might have found another way. Another method. One that wasn't so bloody time consuming.

But as it was, at least she knew her son would live through the night. As she lay on her back beneath her son's cot, she carved the last four runes into the wood with the silver potions knife she'd had since her first Christmas at Hogwarts. A gift from Severus who'd saved up every last knut he had to get her a present. Though the two had fallen out and had not reconciled, she still treasured it. She still cared for him... even if he had gone where she could never follow.

She sliced her finger and traced the carved runes as she pushed her magic into the runes. She chanted the incantation she had created. As long as she was able to get Harry back to the crib, safe behind the runic wards, he would be safe.

When she had told James of her plan, he had agreed to give her his wand. His death, though unavoidable, would not be in vain. She would use it and the release of the family magic at his death to power the wards on the crib. Willing sacrifice, she had said as she showed him the research she'd done, was more potent than an unwilling one. All he needed to do was stall for just a little bit of time. Time enough to get Harry where she needed him to be.

Her work done in her son's room, she locked her wand and her husband's into the safe.

She knew there would not be enough power to protect both Harry and herself. So she would use her own death to amplify the magic, to ensure no harm would touch her precious boy beyond this terrible night.

 

She did not feel pain when she died.

But she sure as hell saw what happened after.

She may be dead, and her son may now carry a scar, but the fact that her and her husband's sacrifices had caused the killing curse to rebound and vaporize the son of a bitch that broke into their home... She couldn't be prouder than she was in that moment.

"Come now, Child. Your beloved is waiting."

She looked up to see a figure cloaked in black. Pale, skeletal fingers reaching out for her. "Are you-"

"I am."

"And our killer?..."

"Alive. But in agony."

"How?"

The figure turned to Harry then, and stroked a cold finger upon the boy's forehead. His pointed nail carved a line into his soft, baby skin. "Stop!" Lily exclaimed angrily, but ultimately impotently as she found she could touch nothing. Do nothing. "Please. I beg you."

"Your son is marked by Destiny. Not even I may change this, Child. But..." The cloaked head lifted, just enough so she could see his cruel, cold smile. "My Master will live. Now, come. Your time is over. You will see him again twice more."

 

Sirius was dead.

Snape was dead.

Dumbledore - dead.

Dark Lord Voldemort... well. Thankfully that asshole was finally, truly dead.

Pretty much anyone who had any significant impact on Harry's life - both positive and negative - were dead. And he was left with survivor's guilt and a Hogwarts 7th year trying to get into his pants when really... all he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and never have to face another day as Harry bloody Potter again.

When he received a summons from Gringotts, part of him was hoping it was to be killed for what he'd done to the place the last time he was there.

The rest of him hoped it wasn't for anything too terrible and just normal bank business. Though when a muggle safe was brought in on a trolley it was clear this wasn't going to be a normal visit to the bank.

And that was when he learned that the wills of his parents and Sirius were illegally sealed, the house - his parents home - in Godric's Hollow was illegally sold by the Ministry and the safe was discovered in the master bedroom.

Unfortunately the wills of his parents stated that Harry was to go to Sirius or Remus if they both died. And that both men had the combination to the safe, which was protected against magic by his mother.

Fortunately Sirius was a paranoid fucker after Azkaban and left the combination to the safe in a protected Goblin box which itself was left to Harry in his will and could only be opened by Harry's blood and the Black Lordship ring.

 

When Harry hadn't been seen for days Hermione insisted she and Ron go to check on him. He wasn't in his flat. He wasn't in the Leaky. Or Hogsmede. He wasn't at Hogwarts helping with the rebuild. He wasn't anywhere...

And then...

"Godric's Hollow," she said.

They found him in the partially remodeled ruins of the Potter Cottage with a case of firewhisky, most of the bottles empty, and a stack of papers bound together by a giant muggle clip. He was laughing hysterically in clothes that looked like he'd been in a battle.

There was blood on the floor. A pool of it dried days ago. But not a scratch on his skin beyond that which he'd had prior to facing off against Voldemort for the final time.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, uncertain if her friend were still... well, sane.

"I fist-fought a hippogriff," he said. "It ripped my throat out, you know."

Hermione paled. Ron stiffened at her side.

"Jumped off a cliff and got up an hour later. Walking just fine." He pointed to the dried pool of blood. "That was attempt number 12. Wrists. Stung a little but that's about it."

"Harry, you need to see a healer."

"The first time, the Goblins tried to execute me. Of course, they dealt with business first. My parents wills. Sirius's too. Getting my accounts in order, that kind of thing. I even made a will leaving everything to you two. Had to cancel out a marriage contract between me and Ginny though... and get my own houses back. Did you know Dumbledore tried to sell them all claiming to be my guardian? I was supposed to marry Ginny but then I went on the horcrux hunt. Did you know, Ron? I mean, I love your sister, yeah. But we broke up. It wasn't going to work. I wanted to settle down. Have a couple of little Potters," he said, his voice on edge in hysterics. "She wants a career. We want different things. And she's more... more a sister..."

His mad laughter rang out clear again before he broke down into sobs.

He was taken to St. Mungoes.

For as long as the wizarding world lasted, Harry never saw the outside again.

 

He was called The-Boy-Who-Lived-Forever.

Sometime after the first few thousand years, he forgot his own name. After the first million he forgot he had ever been human. After a billion... well... madness was all he had left.

There was one thing he learned though, when the last lights of time and space went out.

That in the end, even Death may die. And it was this final lesson that had caught him off guard the most. Had surprised him the most. For when he pulled back Death's hood once, well, Death was no longer... Death, he saw familiar green eyes staring back at him. And a moment of clarity in the madness took hold.

He could hear her voice - who she was he could no longer remember - but she had warned him. Terrible things happen to wizards that meddle with time. If you see yourself you'd go mad.

Perhaps... perhaps because he was already mad the death of Death was more of a sobering event for him. A moment where he stared at the cold, unmoving face of the skeletal creature that had existed beneath the cloak... he knew that one day, one day he would die.

He remembered a lake somewhere. So long ago. And creatures like himself hovering over a man and a boy. Ready to reap a soul. To devour it and savor its exquisite flavors of joy and happiness and innocence... A large glowing animal storming out of the darkness.

He could do it, because he saw himself do it. And that is how he knew he could do it.

And so seeing Death die, seeing Death as the same familiar face he himself wore, he knew he could do it. He knew one day, he would die.

And with the death of Death, the universe came to an end.

And with the end of the universe, time stopped.

When time stopped there was nothing.

 

He was bored. There was nothing.

Nothing save himself and the corpse of Death.

Without Death, what was he Master of?

Out of curiosity he decided to try and reanimate Death.

What resulted by his attempts were explosions of heat and color. Magic swirling in the once empty void.

But Death was gone - his corpse becoming the colors and stepping stones of this new and exciting existence.

Well, you couldn't have Life without Death.

And so the Master became Death. And he waited. And he watched. And he played in the colors of the magic that filled the not-void.

 

Eons passed and others came to being. Death watched in curiosity as the infants Fate and Destiny came to be. He liked most of the others... but he had a primal hate for those two. Something he could not understand... but he knew it had to do with the time Before. The time when he was whole and alive and new and weak.

At every opportunity Death would screw those two over.

They hated him and he hated them. And that was the way he liked it.

 

Death was drawn to a river, once.

It was a place that had taken many souls on his behalf. The waters were raging and wild, just like himself.

He watched as many lost their lives, and he reaped their souls. And he was thrilled and overjoyed.

Until three men appeared and pulled out a stick each. And the river was avoided.

Anger swelled up inside him and Death made himself known. They had cheated him, but he in turn cheated them.

But one saw what he did to the other two, and he was quite clever.

Death searched for the third an for years, unable to find him.

It was the most fun he'd had since the time of Before. Since the time of the Start. With the colors and the brightness and the heat that made him feel so... so... alive!

Then, one day, he sensed the man and rushed to find him. And he found him old and gray with another man standing beside him, holding the gift Death had bestowed.

"I like you," Death said. "I had fun searching for you my friend. So I will grant you another gift. One only I can bestow." And Death touched the younger man's forehead, above the right eye. "When the time comes, you will know to expect me. Because your father has entertained me, expect mercy in your death. You will feel little pain and I will come to you straight away so that you will not linger."

And with that, Death took the third man with him when he left.

 

Death collected souls and wandered the earth causing havoc and chaos wherever he went.

But he kept his word, and when he went to collect the soul of the third man's descendants, those who possessed the cloak, their deaths were kind. Until one tried to cheat him, so Death changed the gift he had given, and made it a curse and a burden. Each man would now know how his heir would die in addition to knowing it was his final day of life.

A second one attempted to cheat him, and so Death took all of his children before they were born. Everything went to his younger brother, who had only daughters.

And so Death watched as the house of Peverell, the house of the third man, died. And the house of the Potters took its place.

Death was kind, once more. And when the Lords passed, if possible Death made it easy. Made it gentle. But he would not lift the curse and the burden. In this way, it may prevent another attempting to cheat him.

 

Fate laughed. Destiny cackled.

"We know your secret," they sang at his back.

He was so enraged he missed his attempt to take the soul of what was meant to be a stillborn child and instead took the life of its mother.

From then on, Death attempted to collect the child - but Fate and Destiny worked against him at every turn. Just when he thought he'd managed to get the slippery little bastard, Fate had sent an innocent schoolgirl in the way. So rather than the giant fucking basilisk eating the boy attempting to control it, a girl stared into it's big yellow eyes and died.

And so after he was cheated once more. A mere boy of 16 years... cheating an ancient and primordial entity of death, chaos, and destruction. It was the humiliation of the Peverell brothers all over again.

Just to spite everyone, he refused to reap the girl's soul and instead made her a ghost of the school she was killed in.

 

Death sat on the dinner table and stared at the boy angrily as he cheated death once more. Breaking his soul into little bitty bits. "You bastard. And with my own damn gift, too," Death snarled angrily while the three souls stood by watching in horror. "I'll get you. It'll take me a while, but I'll get every last damn piece of you, you son of a bitch.

Never knowing he had an audience, Tom Riddle Jr. split his soul a second time and placed it into the ring bearing the stone Death had given to one of the men who had tricked him at the river so very long ago. From that moment onward, Death decided that Tom Riddle Jr. would be his personal bitch. And he knew just how to go about it...

 

Death had made himself presentable for the first time in eons. After all, it was not every day the most ancient and primordial entity in existence went to one of the younger ones asking for favor.

And so it was that Death found himself dressed in a smart human suit with his wild black hair brushed neatly and his eyes as green as the wizard's curse that could quickly summon him to collect his bounties. He sat at a table, tossed in some galleons, and ordered himself a drink.

He deliberately lost. Hand after hand. Until she made her appearance.

"How about a little kiss for luck, darlin?" she asked him, hanging off his side.

"Exactly the woman I wanted to see," he said, a cruel smile on his lips. "Mistress Luck, I'd like a word."

"Oh my deadly little devil," she said, kissing his forehead and blowing on his cards to give him a winning hand. "Anything for my favorite god."

He won three hands straight before cashing in his chips and following her to the private lounge.

"I've come to ask for a favor."

She sipped her brandy with a devious smile and made a show of crossing shapely legs, letting the skirt of her dress ride up to expose lovely and smooth dark skin. "And what do I get in return?"

"A show the likes of which you've never seen."

"Really? Can you top Nichiren? With a kiss from me he managed to escape his own beheading. Executioner was struck by lightning."

His smile became broader, manic even. "Oh yes. I'm going to choose a boy to give my power to. And if you give him a portion of your own, I promise you that you'll have front row seating to the most entertaining series of events you've ever witnessed."

She considered his words. She had toyed with him in the past, of course. Blowing a kiss or two on some lucky sod so they could escape Death at the last moment. It was her way of flirting with the handsome entity, whereas her sisters Fate and Destiny just liked to outright nut-shot him.

"You do know," she said solemnly, "that my power comes with a cost. He'll be extremely lucky, but he'll have to suffer for it."

"Which is why I will bestow some of my own power. He will live, and he will endure."

"Why do you want this so badly, Deathy darling?"

He growled angrily, green eyes bright. "Your sisters are bitches and there's a man who refuses to fucking die. I can't have that. I can't let him cheat me out of what's mine."

Mistress Luck considered this. Death always did hate to be cheated. It's why when she flirted with him, letting someone come so close but ultimately shy away from him, she never let the person escape a second time. It kept Death on his toes, and he let her because it kept her happy and out of his hair. Mostly.

"On one condition," she said. "You know there's only one way I can give my power rather than just grant a bit of luck..."

"Go on."

"I want to be a red head. And I want to be strong and powerful. And beautiful goes without saying. And I don't want my sisters to know."

Death nodded, an idea flashing in his mind. "Oh, I know the perfect vessel Mistress Luck. The perfect one indeed."

 

Death roared like an angry lion when he witnessed Tom Riddle Jr, now calling himself Lord Voldemort, rip his soul and put it into a golden cup.

And again into a locket.

"Just you wait.... Just you wait. I have plans for you slithery bastard.

Death planned an exceptionally gruesome end for the bit of soul the bastard hid in a school full of children. Death adored children and loathed having to collect their souls when it was necessary.

Oh yes... he was creating new and terrible torture for this Voldemort bastard. Flight from him indeed.

 

Petunia Evans was planned.

Lily was not. But her parents hailed her as a miracle child, for Mrs. Evans was told she could never have another due to her health after giving birth to Petunia.

But as it was, Lily was an exceptional daughter with many talents. She got along with her sister... that was... until she started to do many unusual things that her sister could not...

Death watched over her when he could. And was fascinated by her otherworldly eyes. So like his own. He mused sometimes that Mistress Luck chose those eyes to get his attention. Ever since she was new and young she did always admire his bright, eerie green eyes.

 

Death sat back amused by the entire thing. Here he was, the night of a full moon, at a school full of children, watching a werewolf nearly maul a teenage boy. Only for one of his own favored, a Potter, to save the boy's life.

It had all the hallmarks of Mistress Luck's near death flirtations, and yet the minx was still bound to a mortal form. It was only after he realized who the boy was that Death felt a stirring of affection for the boy. He knew not from where it came, but it was similar for what he felt for Mistress Luck. It was warm and kind while Death himself was cold and merciless.

This boy, this... this greasy haired and sad young man, was one of Luck's favored. For even bound to mortal bones she couldn't help but bestow her favors to those she took a liking to.

And so Death let him go, with a promise to visit him again much later.

 

Fate cackled.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..."

Destiny tittered.

"....and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal..."

The drunken Seer rocked back and forth on the chair in the dingy pub.

"....and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..."

Death was enraged as the old man's eyes twinkled.

Death roared at the two beings flanking the Seer as she spouted off her nonsense. Laughing at him and his fury.

"We know your secret!" they howled together at him.

The old man frowned as the Seer stopped, not knowing she had just been used in the grand schemes of Fate and Destiny to annoy the piss out of Death.

 

Death glared at the old man as he asked to examine the cloak of his Favored Children.

"I'm on to you, old fool. Like that idiot ponce Grindlewald, you'll never be my Master," Death said to the unknowing old man as he accepted the cloak. "My Master is kind. And warm. And perfect. He is strong and powerful. And blessed by Mistress Luck. You will never be as good as my Master is."

Death was there when his Master was born. Waiting patiently to see him.

Death was there when his Master said his first words. When he started crawling and walking and flew his first training broom.

Death smiled as he watched his Master discover the world around him with such wonder.

And Death was there when Mistress Luck's vessel began to carve her first runes into his Master's wooden crib.

 

Death stood beside the bed and looked down at his Master's mortal father. Mistress Luck, he felt, clearly had a type.

He waited for his favored to close his eyes and rest, then leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "I have come for you, Lord Potter. As I have come for your father and his father. It will be swift, and it will be quick. For you are my friend and I am kind."

He frowned, then nodded and spoke again. "You are the last I will take. For my Master is undying. He is Mine and I am His. And He will endure."

With that Death left him to his final slumber and moved on to await the day.

 

Fate howled in laughter and Destiny was ecstatic.

Death was roaring like an angry lion once more as that bastard Tom Riddle came to kill His Favored.

Death collected him quickly, as was the promise made to his kin so long ago, and then sent him on his way.

"A kiss! A kiss!" Fate exclaimed as her sister crowed with delight. Tom Riddle was gone, and in his place Mistress Luck lay slain. And her boy, Death's Master, now one more piece of the cheating bastard to be destroyed.

Death roared, then silenced as he banished the younger entities away.

Time resumed and Death stood by the crib as he watched the woman that had been Mistress Luck's mortal soul stand and examine her surroundings. He held out his hand and spoke softly to her. For in this form, she was not his dear friend, but the Mother of his Master. "Come now, Child. You beloved is waiting."

She looked up at him, and he realized he still looked... well, he favored a more traditional look of Death these days. Hood, skeleton appearance and all. Given the date, he had thought the appearance quite appropriate for his own sense of humor. "Are you-" she started but he cut her off.

"I am."

"And our killer?..."

Death knew he couldn't claim him. Not at the moment. But he knew when the shreds of soul fled that the wraith was in pure misery. "Alive. But in agony."

"How?"

Death turned to his Master and reached out to stroke his face. Using his nail, he carved a jagged line into the child's forehead where Destiny had guided Fate's hand in placing the shard of Riddle into the boy's body.

"Stop!" Lily cried. "Please. I beg you."

Death was saddened. He missed his friend Luck. Luck would know that this was the plan. She would know that he would never hurt his Master. Never intentionally that is. He nodded. "Your son is marked by Destiny. Not even I may change this, Child. But... he smiled wickedly. "My Master will live. Now, come. Your time is over. You will see him again twice more."

He offered his hand again in friendship, and she, like her husband, grasped it firmly.

 

Death glowered at the large, round man. He stood guard outside the cupboard. "Would that I could take you now for what you've done," Death snarled at him as the boy, his beloved Master, sobbed behind him in the dark. Broken and battered. Filled with pain and his body violated in ways no child should know.

Rage filled him.

He wanted - oh how Death wanted to take the large bastard now. But no, it was not yet time for that one.

So instead he could only toy with him.

For three weeks Vernon Dursley thought someone was out to get him. Frequently having cold chills up his spine as if someone were walking over his grave.

He did not know that Death kept taking potshots at him in the hopes that the bastard might be seriously injured.

 

Death stood before the mirror, waiting for his ever elusive prey.

As he waited, he could not help but notice the mirror show him the oddest of things. It was meant to show him his deepest desires. So why was it showing him these strange people? Frizzy hair, red hair and freckles. One man with one ear. One man identical but with both. Why was it showing him people his Master knew?

Before he could really contemplate it fully, he was no longer alone and stepped aside to let his prey take center stage.

The moment Professor Quirrell's soul was free and in his grasp, he looked at the shade - the wraith - and smirked with bright green eyes alight.

"Boo!" he exclaimed before it took off in fright.

Flight from Death indeed.

 

Death was bored.

"Silly girl and her silly crush. Look what it's got you now," he said as she lay out on the floor. "And you.... You're mine now you bastard. The first in a long line of slithery, slimy, cheating pieces. I'll get you."

Soon enough his Master came, as Death knew he would. Though small in stature, the boy's bravery more than made up for it.

"No!" Fate cried as Death hooked his claws into the shard of soul when his Master had stabbed the horcrux.

"He is MINE!" Death roared as he stole the first piece of Tom Riddle away before Fate and Destiny could retrieve him. And with Death's departure from the Chamber of Secrets, the poison was cured in his Master and his innate power from Mistress Luck once more struck true.

 

"You've got to be kidding me... This again?" Death grumbled when he found Luck's favored in the same damn place with the same damn werewolf so many years later.

Death glowered at the potions master. "You're lucky my best friend likes you. Otherwise I'd rip your soul out so fast even your spirit would have whiplash for your sheer stupidity! You... you... greasy git!"

Death turned and stalked into the forest after the werewolf and the Grim. He'd intended to come collect the rat, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Instead, his Master needed his help, and so his help he would give.

He caught up with everyone again at the side of a lake. The Dementors circling overhead.

He glared up at them. "You lot were a bloody mistake. I never should have made you." Then again, at the time Death was waiting for his Master, and it was still going to be a few thousand years, and he'd gotten quite bored with his job. Soul sucking assistants seemed like a good idea at the time.

He stood with his arms crossed over his chest as he waited for his Master to appear. In the meantime, he would kind tell his ill conceived creations to kindly piss off from the man at his feet because it wasn't his bloody time yet you bastards.

When his Master did come, he came twice. And Death saw a beautiful stag driving his ill conceived children away.

 

"Kill the spare."

"Avada Kedavra!"

Fate was laughing. Destiny snickered.

"I'LL FUCKING GUT YOU ALL!" Death roared in blind fury. But as it stood, as he collected poor Cedric, there was little more he could do... until...

"Wait... they have brother wands..." Death said, smirking at the sisters who caused him such headaches. He watched as his Master dueled and battled and then, he clapped his hands. The wands connected and the dome was created.

"You cheating bastard!" Destiny cried as Death smiled darkly.

"Go on then Cedric. You're first then," he said, nudging the spirit of the boy forwards into the magic.

He watched and he waited as others he had collected came forward. For only his Master had the power to bring them forth once he had taken them. Even if he did not yet know he was his Master, and had such power in him, Death wasn't above bending the rules from time to time.

Soon enough the spell was broken and his Master was whisked away once more. Death waited in the graveyard. "You made the mistake, children," he said as the snake-man that was his most elusive victim yet ranted and raved in anger. "Graveyards are places of the dead. This is MY holy ground, not yours."

The sisters left him cackling at them.

 

He sat on the end of his Master's bed at the school as the boy cried in his sleep. Begging Sirius to live.

"I am sorry Master," he said to the sleeping boy. "But it was his time. He was your kin in all but blood, so I tripped him into the veil. Her curse was painful. Torturous." Death looked on him with pity in his green eyes. "In this way he felt no pain. I am your friend. And I am kind."

Death reached out to his Master and eased the boy's sleep. At least for this night.

 

Death was perched on the corner of the old man's desk.

He watched as the man tried to destroy the horcrux. And when he succeeded and the sliver of soul came out, Death took it and held onto it possessively.

But not without experiencing a bit of joy. For the old man was cursed.

"Soon," he said to the old man before leaving. "Soon you'll have to answer for what you've put my Master through."

 

Death sneered at him and let the old man see his face. His true face. For he knew he looked like his Master. For what reason he might have once known, but now was lost to time. But he knew it would unsettle the old fool. And he was happy to do it. To take potshots on his Master's behalf.

"My boy..." the old man said.

"I am no one's 'boy' Albus Dumbledore," Death snapped bitterly. "I've waited years to claim your soul. And now-"

"You cannot have him!" cried Destiny. "He is ours!" cried her sister Fate.

Death snarled at them. "I have played your games long enough!" he growled hatefully. "And YOU! You will not escape for the things you've done! Greater good my primordial arse! I know the perfect punishment for you!"

And so it was in the eternal uncertainty of purgatory, the soul of Albus Dumbledore was given a job. His job was to pick up trash and throw it away. His job was never ending as the trash would always return. It was a thankless job, and a useless one. One that gave no fame nor notoriety. He would be less than the gum on the bottom of one's shoe. Trapped for eternity in a train station.

 

When the locket was destroyed, Death clamped hold of the shard of soul with an iron grip. "Mine at last," he growled as he took it away with him to the darkness.

 

There were so many. So many souls and so many people.

Death actually wept as he witnessed the killing of so many children. Those who died a painful death he took quickly. For those who were felled by the curse the color of his Master's eyes were painless and could wait.

He did stop long enough to collect the soul piece from the cup. And when the diadem was utterly destroyed by the hellish fiendfyre he was absolutely giddy as he snatched up that piece, too.

Death was grateful when the snake-faced bastard called for a cease fire - even if just temporary. It gave him time to collect the others that waited for his cold, clammy touch.

 

When his Master visited purgatory briefly, he left the horcrux Fate and Destiny had given him behind. In return... he let the old fool have a few words with his Master.

Death collected the shard with a cruel smile. "Nearly done now, Riddle. Your ancestors learned the hard way you can never escape me. The line of Ignotus, and the Potters, took this lesson to heart. Pity Slytherin and the Gaunts never cared to see the wisdom of this lesson."

 

When Nagini was slain, Death couldn't be happier and he snatched the piece of soul with greedy hands before he sent it into the realm beyond.

"One more. One more left and you're mine at last!" he exclaimed. "Oh Master send him to me! Send him to me at last!"

 

Destiny and Fate wailed as the killing curse rebounded.

Death stood behind him, and once the spell struck he wrapped his arms tightly around the man who had evaded him for so very long. A cold, hard voice whispered in his ear. "You are mine at last, Tom Riddle," he said. "And I'm never going to let you go."

What was left of Lord Voldemort's soul was forced to watch his body fall to the ground. Lifeless. Dead. No spectacular miracle of survival. No extraordinary feat of magic to cause his body to do something unforgettable.

No, just a normal, average death. Just like everyone else. His greatest fear realized right before his eyes before he was taken into the abyss by familiar and haunting eyes of Avada Kedavra green.

 

Death watched as his Master tried to die. Over and over again, and unable to find his peace and rest.

He stroked his Master's hair, waiting for his friends to come and find him as his madness started to truly set in.

"I am here, Master," he said to him as they waited. "You are Mine, and I am Yours. And we are the same. This is the start, you know," Death said, wrapping his arms around the sobbing young man on the floor, covered in his own blood but with nary a scratch upon him. "When you stop being you and start becoming me."


End file.
